


How to Survive

by peacefulboo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Caveat Lector Y'all, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Season 5 AU, Trauma, sutures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefulboo/pseuds/peacefulboo
Summary: Felicity Smoak deals with trauma in a few tried and true ways. This time is no different. A Season 5 AU.***I hate to say it, but this fic has been abandoned. I wanted so badly to write this particular story well and bring it to its conclusion, but that didn't happen and I sincerely apologize for that.***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. This is my Felicity-centric Season 5 AU. This past November I looked at where the show left off after Season 4, and where they were going in Season 5, decided to cherry pick a few things they'd written, spin them out to their logical conclusions (according to me), nix the idea of an overall villain and really try and get deeper into Felicity's head. This is the result of that exploration. I hope you dig it. 
> 
> A quick note: while this will eventually end with Oliver and Felicity together, there will be other relationships and issues explored along the way and it's primarily a Felicity fic. 
> 
> Content Warnings: Canon-typical violence, medical talk, shitty science, blood, body trauma. Feel free to drop me an ask at peacefulboo.tumblr.com or @boofadil on twitter if you have questions about any of these content warnings.

She comes home to the loft on a late summer night and thinks, not for the first, or even the third time, that she really needs to sell the place. It’s nice and she likes it well enough, but there’s so much negative history in the large, open living space. The floor has been scrubbed clean of blood more times than she can count, the windows have been replaced twice and everywhere she turns she expects to see him. He haunts the place like he’s dead and his ghost is heavier than she’d anticipated. 

So she should sell it. Thea’s already gone through the process of saying goodbye to the nightmares this home held for her so she won’t mind. And Oliver hasn’t been here in months. Her mom is back in Vegas (a fact that brings relief and deep sadness at the same time), so she doesn’t have guests here. There’s no reason to hold on to the loft but apathy. 

And Felicity is done with apathy. She’s had months to sort out her mind and her life. She’s making strides toward getting Palmer Tech back in her own hands (whether she wants the company in them or not), she’s finding a groove in the two, sometimes three, person bunker, and she’s seriously considering getting a cat. Or a dog. 

Felicity drops her keys in the bowl by the door, kicks her shoes toward the couch, chucks her jacket over the arm of it, and braces her hands just above her ass as she does her best to stretch out her lower back, bending first backward, then side to side. Maybe with a new home, she’ll get a new bed. One that’s a little higher and softer. Something she can just roll off of in the mornings instead of climb up out of. 

Bed. After a day full of meetings with the allies she has on the Palmer Tech board (there were more people in her corner than she’d originally expected) and an evening schmoozing with her biggest ally, Jeff Casper, and his wife Julie, Felicity sends Oliver a text begging off her time in the lair and trudges up the stairs. It’s been a good day, productive, promising. She figures she’ll turn in before anything can change that. 

She strips out of her dress and bra, shrugs into a thread bare, maroon MIT t-shirt, grabs a pair of grey, fleece leggings from under her pillow and drags them on as well, then slips down into the bed. Before she falls asleep she decides, 1. She’s definitely getting a new bed. (This has nothing to do with the fact that, ridiculous as it may be, she can still fucking smell him in this damn bed, his scent ghosting up through the damn memory foam and sheets she’s washed a million times, and everything to do with them buying this specific mattress with Oliver’s needs in mind, given that at the time she was younger, had only been shot once, and frankly could sleep anywhere if she was warm enough. This past year had not been kind.) 2. She’s leaning more toward getting a dog instead of a cat. Something big and warm and cuddly. She’ll have to look into that. 

***

She wakes with a start at 3:30am, like she does most nights now. Twenty thousand souls are screaming at her to wake the fuck up. She breathes through the dread and wills herself back to sleep. 

***

In the morning, she wakes slowly. Her body is heavy and tight and she groans as she realizes she’s probably going to be starting her period in the next day. The timing is off, but not having a regular schedule has done her no favors, so she shrugs in disappointment before slipping out of bed to get ready for her day. Her shower is longer than she intended since the hot water feels so amazing against her lower back, but her day is her own and she takes her time. A look out the window once she’s left the bathroom tells her that it’s gonna be a gray day, the low, thick clouds heavy and oppressive but not ominous. There might be mist but there isn’t likely to be real rain. She blow-dries her hair anyway, then pulls it back into a high, messy bun. The moisture in the air is liable to ruin any attempt at getting her hair to stay stick straight. Her makeup is light and more neutral that it would be if she was going into the office. 

She pulls on her dark jeans, a long sleeve undershirt, a medium weight maroon sweater with a cowl neck, her black booties that should do okay if it does end up raining and heads out the door with her laptop bag in tow. The cafe she heads to is one that she’d discovered two months ago while walking through the still quiet streets of her city. Many of the smaller mom-and-pop type establishments had closed up shop after Darhk’s decimation of the city. There were too few customers and the general infrastructure of the city had taken so long to get back to anything resembling normal, that most had closed their doors and never opened them again. But this one, a few blocks from the loft, with it’s fresh baked bread, and hanging gardens in the little outdoor courtyard at the back, has managed to survive thanks to some stubborn owners and genuinely decent food and drink. 

On a clear day, one that’s warmer and less damp than today, Felicity often finds herself sitting outside, but today she heads to a booth in the corner. 

“Hey! I’ll be right over with your coffee. You want your usual?” one of the owners calls from behind the counter. Her name is Cammie and she looks to be in her mid to late 40s. Her gorgeous silver hair is pulled back in a long braid. 

“Of course! No rush,” Felicity replies as she settles into the booth and pulls her tablet and laptop out of her bag. Her regular is fried egg sandwich with thick white toast, avocado, tomato, and turkey bacon. The first time she’d had it she was pretty sure she’d had a full on orgasm and she’s been reluctant to order anything else since. Though on occasion she’ll get a pastry to go, or something else to nibble on when she’s spent more than a few hours at the cafe working on her proposals for Palmer Tech, or doing what searches and coding she can safely do for Oliver outside of the bunker. 

She quickly becomes immersed in her work, barely acknowledging Cammie when she sets down her plate of food and refills her cup of coffee. Trying to get the budget numbers to work out so that Palmer Tech can make a profit and still get the biostim chip into production in the next year is looking next to impossible. Add in that she wants to make it available to anyone who needs it and she’s looking at an uphill battle. Curtis has some ideas for the T-Sphere that could help bring in enough cash, but the production on those has been painfully slow as well, what with the crater in the middle of the city shutting down water and electricity to Palmer Tech’s main facility for much of the summer, but there’s a chance they can get that, and some of Ray’s older, more profitable projects, back in full production. If they can get that done by the end of the year, they may be in business. But it’ll be a hard sell. 

The stimulator is a miracle and mass producing miracles don’t come cheap. They’d already hit a snag when one of the board members had pointed out, that Felicity choosing to use the stimulator without proper medical testing and trials, both non-human and human alike, was one thing, but there’s no way they could go into full production without the proper trials. The company can’t take that liability on and the government wouldn’t let them even if they tried. And they weren’t going to try. 

It broke Felicity’s heart when it sank in that they were likely years away from really being able to help so many people whose lives would be radically changed by the technology, but she’s slowly accepting the slow as molasses timeline. In the meantime, she’s started making plans for Smoak Technologies, a new subsidiary of Palmer Technologies that will focus on biomechanical technologies, an area that Felicity had had less than zero interest in even two years ago. Now thinking about the possibilities could make her eyes light up and her head spin. There was so much potential to do good on such a wide scale. 

“Wow. Your smile is incredible,” a male voice cuts through her concentration and she looks up to see Detective Billy Malone leaning against the pastry case as he waits for his order and a to-go cup of coffee. “What’s got you that jazzed?”

Felicity ducks her head in slight embarrassment before looking up at him and shrugging. “Just thinking. It’s a good week.” She takes a sip of her coffee just so she has something to do with her hands. 

“Well, I’m glad I got to see it. You really do light up a room, Ms. Smoak,” he says as he gets his bagged pastry and change from Cammie, nods his thanks toward the shop owner, winks at Felicity, and heads out the door. 

Felicity can feel the blush spread across her cheeks his words. She’s a little rusty at accepting personal compliments so it takes her a moment to shake it off and get back to her work. 

***

While she can normally sit for hours on end hunched over her computer, and she’s spent many of those hours in this exact booth, today the ache in her back becomes too distracting around noon and she groans as she gets up out of the booth. She has to stifle a gasp as she twists to try and loosen her muscles and it results in an unexpectedly sharp pain that radiates down her legs. She breathes through the discomfort and hopes the walk back to her loft will be enough to get the muscles to unclench and if not, there’s always her trusty bottle of ibuprofen. 

She’s just made it through the door of the loft, when her phone alerts her to a text from Oliver. 

_Any chance you can swing by city hall? We’re having a tech issue._

Well that’s vague. 

She sighs and texts him back letting him know she’ll be over within the hour as she grabs the bottle of pain medication off the counter and taps out 3 brown pills into her palm. She washes them with a couple of swallows of water and the looks down at what she’s wearing. She figures it’s presentable enough, especially if the tech issue involves any crawling around the floor hooking up wires, though she normally prefers to look a little more professional when she helps at the Mayor’s Office. It’s not like she really needs to impress anyone. 

City Hall is only 10 blocks from the loft and since it looks like the rain is going to hold off for at least another hour, Felicity decides to save herself the cab fare and walks. And regrets it pretty quickly. A sheen of sweat breaks out on her forehead within’ two blocks, which is just completely embarrassing, especially given how cool it is. 

She ducks into the public bathroom on the ground floor of City Hall and shakes her head at just how much of a mess she looks. Her face is red and sweaty and frizzy curls halo her head. She reaches to pull out her tube of lotion out of her bag, planning to use a touch of it to tame her curls into submission, but stops herself before she can pull it out. She’s fine. She’s here to fix whatever technical issue Oliver or Thea or their staff have going on, not to win over investors. Still, she applies some lip balm and washes her hands before heading up to Oliver’s offices. 

“Oliver texted me about a technical issue,” she says as she approaches Marnie’s desk. 

“Ms. Smoak, yes! I’m glad you’re here. Our printer went offline this morning and we can’t seem to get back up. Mark, the IT guy we use is out sick so Mayor Queen thought you might be able to help.” Marnie’s eyes were kind and hopeful so Felicity nodded and headed back to where the printer was. 

The fix only takes a few moments, but does indeed involve crawling under a large desk with a hutch full of supplies. Moving the thing would be next to impossible so Felicity has to wiggle her way into the small space, stretching her arm through a small hole so she can grab the cable that’s undone. She’s just about got it reconnected when there’s a stabbing pain in her back that is so sudden she can’t suppress the whimper. 

“Felicity?” Oliver calls, his voice tight and full of concern. 

“Ow,” she replies, taking a deep breath to try and center herself. She moves gingerly, testing out each movement before committing. 

“You okay?” he asks, crouching in the opening and effectively blocking her exit. 

“Yup, yup. Just slept wrong. I think.” 

Oliver stands up straight, allowing Felicity to crawl out. He offers her a hand up and she takes it gratefully. When she’s on her feet she sways a bit and he’s quick to steady her. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m sure. I was twisted up in there and just probably tweaked some already tight muscles. I’ll be fine.” She gives him what she hopes is a reassuringly cheeky look. “No need to mother hen.”

“I never mother hen,” he replies, but he sounds distracted, his focus now fixed on whatever alert popped up on his phone. From his calm reaction, she figures it’s City Hall business and decides to let him get back to it. 

“Sure,” she tells him, but lets it go. “You should be all set with the printer. I had to replace one of the cables and I’ll need to make sure it’s working but I don’t think there will be other issues.”

“Thank you.” He gives her the nod he gives when he’s genuinely grateful and for a second his gaze is so piercing that she has to look away. 

“Anything else you need while I’m here?” she asks, bending to dust off the knees of her jeans which have turned a bit white while crawling around. Ew. 

“Nope. I think we’re good.” He’s looking back at his phone and he jerks his head back toward his office. “I should...”

“Yep. Go do Mayor-y things,” she agrees. 

“See you tonight?” he asks, already heading through his door. 

“Of course,” she agrees. They generally don’t take more than one night off in a row. 

She stops by Marnie’s desk on the way to make sure that everything is working as it should. It does, so she accepts Marnie’s thanks and heads toward the elevator. She waves to Thea through a glass door, and Thea raises a hand in acknowledgement but turns back to whomever she was talking to, so Felicity steps onto the elevator. 

She’s tired, and a little hungry, so she hails a taxi and heads home to make herself a sandwich and maybe take a nap. Which is ridiculous since she barely did anything today. 

That’s how it’s always been for her, though. The busier she is the less she feels any sense of weariness. But when she has time on her hands, inevitably exhaustion rears it’s head and all she wants to do is sleep. The ride home is quick but Felicity is glad she chose to take the cab when halfway home the skies open up and the rain comes. 

***

Her nap does little to ease her exhaustion, her weariness still deep in her bones when she wakes. She thinks about texting Oliver and begging off for the night again, but her tablet shows that she got a hit on some searches they’ve been running and it looks like he needs to suit up. 

She sends him the information and and he’s already on his way to the drop site before she makes it to the bunker. She gets to work as soon as she sits down, engaging the coms, though little is said for the next hour as Oliver works to infiltrate their target’s headquarters and then pull the information she needs off of a mob boss’s surprisingly well secured computer. 

Everything is going well until the camera feed she’s been watching cuts out. 

“Oliver. I no longer have eyes on you,” she tells him as she works to see if she can bring the cameras back up. 

“Can you get them back?” he asks, voice low and calm. 

“Negative. I’m pretty sure they’ve disconnected the cameras physically,” she bites out. The signal is still there but nothing is being broadcast. “We have to assume they know you’re there.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Oliver sighs and says, “Yeah. They know I’m here.”

All Felicity can hear after that is gunfire, grunting, and the shouts of the other side as Oliver fights his way out.

***

“Yikes,” is the first thing she says when he comes through the back entrance. Blood is dripping down his forehead and his pants have been slashed along his outer thigh. There’s some blood there, too but from what she can tell it’s a shallow cut. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

They take care of the head wound first. It’s in his hair line and only needs two sutures, which she manages to put in without shaving the hair around it. She doesn’t even ask him what he wants her to do this time since she knows he’ll take inconspicuous over sterile any day. The idiot. 

When that’s done, he works his way out of his pants so he can examine the wound on his thigh and sighs. Felicity turns and winces. 

She was wrong. It will need stitches. Just a few toward the top where the tip of the blade dug in deeper, but the angle will be awkward at best for Oliver to do them himself. 

“I can get it,” he tells her, voice low and drained. 

“But why?” she replies, rolling her eyes, and goes about the task of cleaning and then sewing up the wound. 

They work in silence, and despite his lack of pants, and how she’s leaning over him, it’s not awkward. This is territory they’ve tread a hundred times over the last few years and honestly? Felicity has never been in the mood to be flirty or sexy when there’s blood and needles involved -- even when they were together. Still, she misses taking care of someone. She misses taking care of him. 

He’s careful when he’s out there these days. He’s always aware that he’s got a public role in this city where questions will be asked if he comes to work bruised and battered on a weekly basis. He’s aware he’s got no back-up and he’s careful. It’s cost the city in a lot of ways. They’re having a hard time keeping up with the level of crime since the Ark’s implosion. There are fewer people left in town, but those who stayed seem to be equal parts bottom feeders and hardy stalwarts who will never leave this town, even if it kills them. 

So they do what they can and hope it’s enough. For now. 

“You’re gonna need to let it heal,” she tells him. The wound on his thigh is in a space where it’s going to easily reopen. It’s not as bad as an elbow or knee, but the muscles get used a lot and popping the stitches is more likely than not. 

He huffs out a sigh and looks up at her, his eyes full of frustration and maybe a little sadness. “Probably,” he agrees. 

His agreeableness lately sets her teeth on edge. There’s a sense of resignation in him these days that feels wrong. She’d like to ask him about it, but she doesn’t think she has a right. 

“It’s kind of terrifying when you agree like that,” she says, keeping her voice light. “Any chance you’ll agree to think about looking at new recruits to train?”

He gives her that look that tells her he’s not going to go there with her right now. She sighs and throws away the gauze and other trash. 

“I’m gonna go get cleaned up and head home,” he murmurs. “Thank you for the assist.”

Home for Oliver is a little one bedroom apartment in the building next to the bunker. She’s never been inside, but she saw the pictures on Zillow when Thea told her about it. Something about it makes her sad -- maybe the tiny kitchen or the eggshell walls. Felicity doesn’t get to comment on that either. 

She heads home as well and falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

***

She’s proofreading a proposal she plans to present to the board at the end of the week when she hears the jingling of the bell from the cafe entrance. 

Billy Malone walks in and spots her immediately. He comes straight to her booth, and before she has a chance to greet him, he asks, “Would you want to have dinner with me sometime this week?”

She’d like to say she’s caught off guard, but she’s not. He’s made his interest clear and she’s done nothing to deter him. Which, she now realizes is because she’s hasn’t wanted to deter him. He’s handsome (though, maybe he could lose the thin facial hair that a lot of dudes seem to be choosing these days) and he’s always kind. When he approaches, he respects her personal space, which is oddly nice and kind of sad in how remarkable it is. He looks her in the eye when he talks to her and seems to be utterly at ease in his own skin. She likes him. 

“Yes,” she blurts out. And it feels good to say it. Weird and maybe a little misshapen in her mouth, but good. “I would like that.” 

The smile that lights up his face is infectious and they sit there in silence for a few beats before he nods his head decisively and says, “Would tomorrow work for you?”

“Um,” she pauses to take mental note of what her calendar looks like, realizes that Oliver is out of comission for at least three more days and since there’s nothing else on her plate tomorrow night, “Yes. That should work perfectly.”

“Excellent,” he says as he pulls a business card out of his shirt pocket as she pulls one out of her wallet. His hand is warm against hers when they brush against each other during the exchange. “I’m excited about this,” he admits. 

His candor is a little overwhelming but not unwelcome. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. 

“Well, I’m gonna grab my coffee and head into work. I’m glad I ran into you, Felicity.”

“Me too. I’m glad you ran into me, too.”

He chuckles at that and then saunters up to the counter to pay for the coffee and pastry that Cammie has waiting for him. He waves to them both as he heads out the door and Felicity is equal parts sad that he’s gone and glad that she’s able to process what just happened. 

 

***

 

Her hands shake as she slides the post of her left earring in. Her palms are a little sweaty and her breathing is just a touch shallower than normal. 

Felicity has felt a lot of anxiety over the last 8 months, but for the first time it’s an anticipation more than dread and worry. She’s excited. She has an excuse to dress nice and she gets to be in the company of a man who makes her smile. It’s a good feeling to be looking forward to something new for once. 

She checks her make-up one last time, smooths a stray hair back behind her ear, checks her reflection to make sure her outfit is in place, and then without looking back, heads to the door. If she stays in this spot for a second longer real anxiety will set in and she knows she’ll start second guessing this decision. 

“It’s just a date, Felicity,” she murmurs to herself. And it’s true. It doesn’t have to mean anything other than a date. 

Her cab is waiting for her out in front of her building. She’d called one out so she can drink more than a glass of wine, since she’s pretty sure she’s going to want, and maybe need, more than one, and she manages to let her mind wander, flitting from topic to topic about anything other than what is happening in a few minutes, and before she knows it, she’s at the restaurant. It’s a trendy but casual gastro pub near the University, the kind of place that seems to believe repurposed pallet wood is the height of interior decorating and uses mason jars for their center pieces. The food’s good though, with decent local wine, and it’s public without being a place that her friends frequent terribly often so she agreed to the location as soon as Billy suggested it. 

He’s out front when they pull up so she pays the driver and climbs out. He grins when he turns and sees her getting out of the car. He leans in to kiss her on the cheek like it’s a normal thing so she shrugs it off and kisses the air next to his cheek at the same time. 

They’re seated right away and their server comes to the table quickly enough that they don’t have to make small talk beforehand. 

Felicity gets a glass of red that she’s fond of and Billy orders a local IPA. 

“Their nachos are killer,” Billy says as he puts his menu down. 

“They’re completely ridiculous, right?” she replies. Because they are. The platter they come on is the size of a lazy Susan and each individual chip is covered in beans, carne adovada, white cheese, two jalepeños, and a dollop of sour cream and guacamole. Felicity usually skips the meat because even though she doesn’t often practice her Judaism, eating meat with dairy will always feel wrong. 

When she says as much, Billy asks, “What’s your favorite thing about being Jewish?”

Felicity has to pause and think. It’s not really a question she’s ever been asked. “I think it’s the sense of connection to so much history. Specific history and people and places, some of which are well documented. I didn’t have a lot of people in my life growing up and I think that being Jewish was another part of my identity that set me apart from the people I was around, but it also helped me feel grounded and special.” She shrugs. She’s never tried to explain it before and finds herself incapable of conveying what she means in a way that’s satisfying. 

Billy seems to sense her unease and changes the subject, “So why that wine?”

Again, she’s taken aback. He keeps throwing her off with questions that seem simple enough, but that she’s never been explicitly asked. 

“It’s a good value. Not cheap, but not ridiculously expensive. It’s full bodied and goes with whatever I want to eat, so it’s a good table wine and means I don’t have to worry that it won’t go with the food I choose, and I always take forever to choose my food. Too many good choices that I almost always just blurt out one of the options at the last second.”

Billy laughs at that, “Yet you choose the same thing at the cafe every day I see you there.” 

It should feel stalkery that he’s noticed that, but it just makes her feel seen. Plus, the man’s a police detective. Being observant is literally his job. 

“Well that’s because it’s the best sandwich I’ve ever had. I don’t need to try anything else there. I picked right the first time.”

They play this game for the rest of dinner. Billy asks her questions and she answers them to the best of her ability. She asks him a few, but she’s not as good at coming up with questions that require in-depth answers. She learns that he likes decent craft beer, that he only drinks one, that he likes pork over beef, that he asks for extra jalapenos. She learns that he’s wanted to be a cop since he was sixteen and his aunt was murdered by her boyfriend when she turned down his marriage proposal. She finds out that he’s close to his siblings (he has two sisters and two brothers) and their children. She learns that he can take or leave Italian food but that he loves the steamed dumplings from Li’s. They talk about a camping trip he took up into Canada with his brother last weekend, and she commiserates with him over how neither of them venture out of the city frequently enough when they have such a vast, gorgeous wilderness at their backs and the wide ocean at their front. 

She learns that she really likes him. And that’s a bit of a revelation. 

They kiss each other goodbye before she gets back into a cab. One of those kisses that’s on the corner of their mouths, almost a cheek kiss, but not quite. It feels familiar and welcome and comfortable. 

The cab drive home is quiet and Felicity is grateful for the silence. The lights of the city bounce off puddles in the streets and she allows herself to be lulled by the way they twinkle as she passes. Her mind is blissfully blank. She is not going to overthink this. 

She falls asleep immediately after falling into bed and if she dreams she doesn’t remember. 

***

“Damnit, it’s infected,” she mutters as she looks at the wound in Oliver’s thigh. Neither of them need this right now. “Did you forget to drink the herbs?” she asks as she probes at the wound and he hisses through teeth. 

“I’m out,” he bites out. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “You’ll need antibiotics now. Which means a doctor.” She redresses the wound, wincing again at how red and puffy and pus-filled it is. 

“I’ll talk to Dr. Lamb,” he tells her. 

“Like actually talk to him, or tell me you’re going to talk to him and then not talk to him and end up with sepsis and in the hospital?”

“When have I ever ended up in the hospital with an infection of all things?” he asks, incredulousness dripping from his voice. 

“Never. But you also never let yourself run out of your magic herbs, so who knows,” she tells him pointedly. 

This dynamic of theirs is weirding her out. He’s never really needed anyone to watch out for his day to day health. He eats well, exercises frequently, takes care of his wounds. True, he sleeps for shit and he takes risks that will one day get him killed, but the daily maintenance has never been an issue. He learned that keeping healthy is the only way to survive a long time ago and she’s never seen him neglect his health. 

And it’s not that the infection happened that’s got her worried. Frankly it’s a miracle that he doesn’t get more of them. But on the whole Oliver seems to be dulled at the edges. His reaction times aren’t as sharp as they used to be. He has a harder time focusing on tasks at hand. He fidgets constantly where he used to be still. 

“Are you okay?” The question pops out before she can stop it. 

“Yeah,” he answers after a second, his tone guarded. 

She knows as his friend, basically his only friend right now, she should push for more than that. But she doesn’t. 

“Call Dr. Lam,” she says with a tone that brooks no argument, “And find a way to get more of the herbs.”

She gets home at 2:00 am and every cell in her body is weary. She climbs the stairs slowly, stairs she’s come to hate over the last year, and decides that it’s time. She’ll call a realtor in the morning. And insist on a first floor master bedroom. Stairs are for the birds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to G for the second pair of eyes! I appreciate you like whoa.

Chapter 2

 

It only takes the realtor two weeks to find the perfect home for Felicity. It’s a three bedroom, one story home, with a gorgeous floors and a large back deck. It’s on the small side, given how many bedrooms there are, but Felicity finds it comforting and cozy. It gets decent light, but there’s no wall made up of windows, which Felicity is grateful for. It has a nice deck and both the back and front yards have been well maintained and have enough green in them to delight her desert-rat heart. It doesn’t seem to matter how long she’s been away from Vegas, she never gets used to living in places where green things grow and thrive so easily. 

Even though it’s on the other side of the business district from where the Ark imploded, she gets it for a song, which would be amazing at any other time in her life, but now it only serves to increase her anxiety about how many people are fleeing the city. Four other houses on her new street are for sale, and she’s pretty sure that two or three others have been abandoned. She wonders, not for the first time if she, and Palmer Tech, should cut bait and get out of town. 

Even as the thought enters her head, she dismisses it. She may not have been born in Starling City like Oliver and Thea, but it’s her home. She loves this gray, misty place - it’s burrowed its way underneath her skin and into her bones - she won’t abandon it now. 

What she doesn’t plan, but what doesn’t surprise her, is her desire to change how she presents herself to the world once again. With the new home comes a new look. 

At 16-years-old Felicity went from a nerdy kid who dressed only for comfort and didn’t do anything more with her hair than pull it back into a sloppy ponytail, to a purple lipstick, combat boot wearing, black haired hacktivist. When Cooper “died”, she decided to shed that skin and try something new on. She lived in pastels and cardigans, she colored her hair a shade of blonde that flattered her skin tone and traded in dark purple lip color for bright pink. When Oliver made her his EA, she traded in comfy flats and her trusty pale button downs and polyester skirts for form fitting dresses with only semi-professional cut outs and sky-high heels. 

This time she chooses a stacked bob that will work well with her natural curls once they find their shape again, but also looks good with the gentle waves she’s currently rocking. She colors it a bold, deep ginger on her stylist's recommendation when she tells him she wants something different. She trades in her bodycon dresses and stilettos for sharp pantsuits, sling backs, and low-heeled booties (much to Paul’s enthusiastic praise). Her pink lipsticks get swapped out for nude and peach colors. 

She doesn’t really recognize herself in the mirror the first few days, and she’s glad. 

When she walks into the bunker late the next night, Oliver points a gun at her and yells, “Don’t move!”

She freezes, almost dropping the box she’s carrying and says, “Oliver, it’s just me,” her voice shaking a little. 

Maybe she should have warned him? 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out as he lets his arm fall to his side. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. 

“Sorry. You just…” he trails off as he peers intently at her for a second. 

“It’s different,” she agrees, letting him off the hook. She’d shrug but she’s still holding the damn box. She lifts the box into his eye line and says, “I found some of your things when I was unpacking.” She sets the box on the conference table and steps back. 

He visibly swallows before nodding, “So the move went well?” he asks but doesn’t make a move toward the box. 

“Yeah. I figure we can put the loft on the market sometime this week.” She has to struggle to keep her tone casual. They’d never gone through the trouble of transferring the deed into just her name after they’d broken up. She wishes they had. 

“Just bring whatever paperwork I need to sign here or to the office,” he agrees. 

“Will do. Anyway, I got a hit on the search you had me run on that body they found at the Starling Bio Park.” She settles into her chair in front of her computers and they both slip into their respective roles. Easy as pie.

***

Felicity jumps at the chance when Thea asks her out to dinner. Both of them have been busy with work and life and Felicity misses her friend. What she doesn’t anticipate is how tired and quiet Thea has become. 

“Are you okay?” Felicity asks halfway through their meal.

“I think I’m going to leave Star City,” Thea says looking off into the distance as she runs her finger along the rim of her wine glass. 

“Again?” The word pops out of Felicity’s mouth with as much incredulousness as she feels. Thea starts and looks directly at Felicity, defiance and hurt clear in her eyes. Felicity takes a deep breath to steady herself and continues evenly, “Tell me why.”

“I’m drowning here.”

“I thought you were doing well in the Mayor’s office,” Felicity prompts, confusion evident. 

“It’s so hard, Felicity. It’s so hard,” Thea repeats, her voice raw with emotion and exhaustion. Felicity takes a sip of her wine and waits for Thea to elaborate. “This city is dying and it’s like watching another part of my family die again. And Oliver just keeps fighting and fighting and I know he’s never going to give up until he dies, and I admire that, I do.” Thea gulps down the rest of her wine and shrugs as a tear slips down her cheek. 

“But you can’t watch that happen,” Felicity says. 

“I can’t stay and watch it happen and I can’t help. At the mayor’s office or on the streets. I can’t be the person that the city needs. It’s too much. They all expect me to be my mother, to know the things she knew and to do the things she did and I don’t.” Thea’s voice breaks there and Felicity reaches out to take her hand. 

“No one expects you to be Moira,” Felicity says. 

“Maybe not, but they expect me to be more than I am. I’m 21. I didn’t go to college. I didn’t pay attention in school, or when my parents talked about work. I know how to work hard now, Malcolm saw to that, but it’s not enough,” Thea says and it sounds like more like a plea than anything else. 

“Where do you want to go?”

“College, maybe? I was thinking somewhere in the middle of the country. Somewhere where I can just go and be and learn. I can use some of Malcolm’s money to go to one of those small liberal arts schools that cost more than they’re really worth. Maybe somewhere in Missouri or Texas,” Thea sounds so hopeful and bewildered that Felicity chuckles a little. 

“You should go then,” Felicity tells her. “Go figure out who Thea Queen is. Go learn stuff and make out with guys whose asses you can kick. It’s okay to want that for yourself.”

It’s like all Thea needs is Felicity’s permission, because for the rest of the night she’s animated and excited as they look at different colleges and universities on their phones. 

Felicity’s happy for Thea, she is, but as they part ways for the night her heart breaks just a little. 

***

It’s a Friday in late fall when Felicity and Curtis arrive at Palmer Tech for the board meeting that will determine the direction of their lives for the next few years. 

The week before, Felicity had presented her final proposal to create a biotech subsidiary, Smoak Technologies, which she would head up. If all goes according to plan, Smoak Technologies will buy out a small but brilliant Swedish company that has already started human trials on a biostim that’s similar to what Curtis created, but has completely mismanaged their funds and are now sitting on world changing technology with no money to see it through. Jeff Casper, the CFO and acting CEO of Palmer Tech, will permanently take over that role, handling the roll out of the PT Power Cell and some of PT’s other cutting edge green energy technology. 

She has Walter Steele and several of his fellow investors in her back pocket, which should put her over the top, but Felicity learned long ago that you don’t count chickens till they hatch. Or the fat lady sings. Something like that. 

“You nervous?” Jeff asks as the three of them wait for the meeting to start. 

“Nope,” she lies. 

“Good. You’ve got this,” he assures her with a wink. 

Mr. Dennis calls the meeting to order. He’s not an evil man, really. He just cares a lot about money. And being right. She still prefers to never have to work with him again if she can help it. This proposal will give Smoak Technologies its own board and almost complete autonomy, which is likely to be the sticky wicket. 

“Ms. Smoak’s proposal is sound,” Casper starts. “The numbers are solid.”

“They would be exponentially better if we moved our headquarters back to Ivy Town. The infrastructure is no longer here to sustain a company the size of Palmer Technologies. With most of our employees already temporarily transferred out to our plants in Ivy Town, Hub City, and elsewhere, it makes the most sense to move headquarters now,” Mr. Dennis points out with his usual arrogance.

“No,” Felicity blurts out. She and Casper had thrown the idea around but she’d ultimately dismissed it. Star City would get back on its feet, but not if all of the businesses left. 

“Ms. Smoak, you can’t be serious,” Mr. Dennis chides. “The majority of the employees and investors support a permanent move. They don’t want to stay in a dying city.”

“The move has already happened, Felicity,” Jeff Casper says, his voice soft and eyes full of compassion. “This would just make it official.”

“There has to be a different option,” Felicity spits out. “I’m not moving my company away from this city.”

“You don’t have to move your company, Ms. Smoak,” Ms. Benevidez says. “Smoak Technologies can stay in Star City.”

Oh. So that’s the way the cookie crumbles. “That’s your play then. I allow you to move Palmer Technologies out of Star City, and you give me my own company to play with?”

“That’s the play,” Ms. Benevidez agrees. 

They discuss the potential logistics for another two hours and agree to call a final vote in a week, but Felicity knows it’s already a done deal. 

Now she just has to tell the Mayor that one of the only large companies left in the city is going to pull out as well.

 

***

She has a date with Billy that night, though she’s not really in the best of moods. Today is one of those days where the pain in her back is shooting down to her toes, which worries her more than she’d like to admit. She also has no clue what she’s going to say to Oliver about the Palmer Tech move. 

She considers cancelling the date, but figures it might cheer her up. Billy’s usually pretty good for that. 

And he is this time, too. They go to a little cafe a few blocks from Billy’s apartment and eat amazing food as Billy tells her stories about his nephews from his latest hiking excursion with his siblings and some of their kids. His eyes light up when he talks about them, and despite the topic being a little inane to her, she enjoys listening. 

“They’re crazy daredevils that wind up in the hospital at least 3 times a year, but they’re good boys,” he tells her with a proud smile. 

“Sounds like your family does the camping and hiking thing a lot, then?” she asks. 

“Yeah. There were so many of us that it was the only kind of vacation we could afford. It stuck with us,” he tells her. He uses his hands to talk, she notes. “What about you? You like the great outdoors?”

“I do. And I don’t. Nature can be beautiful, but also...there’s bugs,” she says, crinkling her nose. “I’m kind of a bug magnet. And my nose and cheeks turn red in 10 minutes of sun, which was a joy growing up in Las Vegas.” 

“Perma burn?” he asks. 

“Yup. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t end up with skin cancer by the time I’m 40. They say that if you burn too many times as a kid and early teen that, even if you avoid the sun when you’re older, your chance of getting skin cancer is a lot higher. It sucks, though, because I look out the windows, especially here, and the world is so beautiful. At least once every 5 years or so I convince myself that I could do it. I could be outdoorsy. Fresh air, exercise, the world around you is quiet.”

“That’s how it is for me,” he replies. 

“It just never works out that way for me,” she tells him with an affected whine in her voice. “It’s all bugs and sunburns and poison ivy and sand in my shoes. Give me a climate controlled space and some wifi and I’m a happy girl.”

“Well nobody’s perfect.” He shrugs and smiles good naturedly. 

“Nope. Definitely not perfect,” she agrees with a small smile. 

He carries the conversation for the rest of the night. She appreciates that, given how much she has on her mind. It’s nice to just sit and listen and be the quiet one for once. 

So when the night concludes and they’re walking back to their cars, she grabs his hand and pulls him toward her and kisses him. 

 

The kiss is nice. Not the bland kind of nice that gets used for homemade mittens made with scratchy yarn, or for the neighbors from down the road who bring cookies the day someone moves in only to never be seen again. It’s a kind of nice that leaves her with a soft smile and a little anticipation. 

And fuck if she doesn’t need some nice right about now. 

***

 

Nice ends up with her at his place a week later, after another date night, this time back at the gastro pub, waking up in his bed after a really decent night of sex. She doesn’t dream that night, which is a plus - orgasms tend to shut down her brain. 

He’s rushing out when she wakes up. 

“There’s coffee in the kitchen and I think there’s some cereal and milk? I gotta head to the station. A suspect in one of my cases got picked up.” He kisses her on the mouth, waves and heads out the door. 

As morning afters go, it’s better than most. 

***

Oliver is in a shitty mood a few nights later when Felicity makes her way down to the bunker. 

Felicity lets him grunt and snarl his way through the night as he thwarts a small arms deal. She tries not to snap back, but he makes it hard when he, once again, returns to the bunker injured and in need of medical attention. 

“If I wanted to be a doctor, I would have gone to medical school,” she mutters as she turns away from stitching up a gash on his arm. It’s deep and gnarly and should definitely be attended to by a plastic surgeon, but fuck if she hasn’t gotten pretty damn decent at this shit. 

“You’re the one who insisted on doing the sutures,” Oliver grits out, his eyes flashing with barely suppressed fury. 

“I’m not going to watch you stitch up your own arm when I can do it twice as fast,” she bites out, rolling her eyes. She hates when he gets like this and she hates when she can’t stop herself from reacting. 

“I’m going to have to get used to doing it on my own sooner or later.” The words come out low and muffled as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. 

“What the hell does that mean?” she asks. 

“I’m just saying that I need to get used to doing this all on my own again at some point.” He says it so matter of factly that it takes a second to register his meaning. 

“Are you telling me to leave?” Felicity asks, her voice as neutral as she can make it, but she’s not terribly successful. 

Oliver sighs and she can see his hands clench and unclench for a few beats before he turns to her. He has his placating face on and that just leaves her more confused. 

“No. All I meant is that things being what they are, I’ll be okay if you change your mind about staying. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay,” he says, his hands relaxed at his sides, but his words tight. 

“I told you I wasn’t leaving,” she reminds him. 

“That was before,” he says, shrugging. 

“Before what?” she asks, genuinely confused about what’s changed. They’ve been doing this on their own for the better part of 6 months. 

“Before a lot of things,” he says as he closes his eyes and turns back toward his work bench. 

“No, Oliver, that’s not good enough. You think I’m going to leave you alone down here when I’ve given you no indication that I will. Why?” she asks and she isn’t even sure why she’s pushing it. He’s obviously in one of his more morose moods. 

He stills again and shakes his head. “I saw you,” he murmurs. 

“Saw me?”

“You asked for the night off on Friday. Said you needed some time to work on something for the board. The owner of the pub by SCU had been bugging me to come in and try their beer, so I decided to take the night off and take him up on his offer,” he trails off there as if he knows he doesn’t need to finish the story. 

And he doesn’t. Felicity and Billy have kind of made Starling Brewing Company their go to for date nights. They’ve gone a few other places, but SBC has become their favorite. 

God, they’ve been dating long enough to have a favorite? How had that happened? 

“I’m dating someone,” is what she says. It’s all she can say. 

“Detective William Malone,” he supplies. 

“Yes. Billy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I was going to,” she says. No she wasn’t. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” he counters. Damn it. 

“Yeah. I just wasn’t ready to have this conversation,” she admits. “And I was deciding if it was necessary to tell you at all.”

“Okay,” he says. And turns to leave. 

“Oliver,” she calls out, regretting it almost instantly. 

“Yeah?” he asks without turning to look at her. 

“Why do you think me dating again means I’m leaving?” It’s just one of the questions she has. 

He just gives her a sad smile and says, “‘Cause I know how you love.” Like that’s all the explanation necessary. 

And maybe it is. 

 

***

 

**_You’re on my schedule for this morning._ **

The text from Oliver makes her sigh. The board has finalized the approval for moving Palmer Tech back to Ivy Town, along with creating Smoak Technologies. Casper offers to be the one to talk to the Mayor, but Felicity takes on the responsibility. 

**Yep. See you at 10.**

She dresses carefully in one of her new pant suits. It’s charcoal and perfectly tailored, the emerald silk shell giving it just a hint of femininity. She pairs it with black booties that only have a slight heel, sacrificing her usual height for a little less pressure on her back. 

He raises an eyebrow when he sees her look but doesn’t comment so she lets it go. 

“I assume you have bad news if you felt like you needed to schedule a meeting,” he starts. “Star City is losing Palmer Tech?”

“Yes,” she admits. “The board finalized the decision yesterday.”

“That’s a shame, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting it,” he says as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

“The good news is that they agreed to let me start Smoak Technologies here.” For the city, it’s not going to be much help, though. 

“Smoak Technologies?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. The weariness is still there, but she can tell he’s genuinely pleased for her. 

“Smoak Technologies, the country’s newest biotechnologies company.”

“That’s amazing.” 

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your company in Starling,” she apologizes, completely appalled to find that tears have sprung to her eyes. 

“Felicity,” he breathes out and she can’t help but look him in the eye. He’s giving her his kind smile. The one that rarely makes appearances these days. She takes a deep breath and waits. “It hasn’t been my company in a long time. Queen Consolidated died with my mother, and I think Thea and I have come to terms with that. I’m just glad you’re choosing to keep Smoak Technologies in Star City.” His voice gets soft, unnecessary gratitude evident. 

“I’m not going _anywhere_ , Oliver,” she reassures him. 

She does think about it sometimes. What it would be like to move somewhere else, where the crime rate is lower, where she gets sleep at night and where she isn’t in constant contact with her ex-fiance. But those thoughts are always fleeting, floating away before they even land in her mind. Being a part of Team Arrow is important to her. Most of the time it’s the most important thing. For Oliver it may be about saving his city, but for her, it’s about saving people. Now she’ll hopefully do that with her company as well. 

“Glad to hear it,” he murmurs. “Let me know what you need from the Mayor’s office during your transition. You know whatever it is, it’s yours.”

Fuck. The look in his eyes is killing her. 

“I’ll keep my demands within reason,” she says with a wink, trying to play it off. 

“Anything,” he repeats. 

Felicity just sucks in a breath and nods before leaving. 

She and Oliver don’t have many intense moments these days. She’s done her best to avoid loaded words and glances, and he’s been willing to go along with her. But when they hit, it’s like a punch in the gut. He knows her so well. 

And he loves her so completely. Even now. 

***

She doesn’t invite people over to her house. 

Originally, she’d chosen the house and its location in part because it’ll be decent for having friends over. The loft was nice for large parties, but always felt too big and open to have quiet chats or movie nights. On the rare days that she’d do that with Oliver or her mom, it was always in the bedroom. 

She’s set up a great tv and sound system in her living room, her couches are comfy, her dining room table is round and can seat up to 8 people for card games or small dinner parties, but she doesn’t call anyone. If she sees Thea or Lyla or Billy, it’s at their homes, never at hers. Once she’s settled, it doesn’t even really cross her mind to have anyone over. 

Work is insane. Setting up a new business and merging it with another is stretching her to her limits and at the end of the day (whenever that happens to be), she just wants to be alone in her own space. There’s so much to learn, too. She spends much of her time videoconferencing with the scientists who have been brought into the fold at Smoak Technology, particularly Dr. Stephanie Durig, a Swiss doctor who has been heading up the research on their spinal implant. She likes the woman’s straightforward way of conveying information and she’s thrilled to have her expertise at Smoak Technologies. She also enjoys when Caitlyn has a chance to sit in on the calls. Her friend is able to synthesize what information Felicity doesn’t have the background to easily grasp, in a quick and efficient manner that helps Felicity feel less at sea.

Still, the more she learns about the Swiss implant, the more it sinks in that they likely jumped the gun by using Curtis’s design. Dr. Durig isn’t particularly shy about pointing out the drawbacks to the design Felicity currently has implanted in her body, and some of the differences are concerning. 

The pain she’s been experiencing in her back the past few months hasn’t gone away, and she means to schedule a follow up with her own medical team, but other things keep taking precedent. And the more she reads about the stim implant that the Swedes have in trials, versus what she’s currently got sitting up against her spine, the further she buries her head in the sand. 

It’s Lyla who pushes her to get her head out of her ass.

Felicity is over at Lyla’s for dinner when Sara convinces her to get on the floor to play. It’s fine; her back twinges a few times when she reaches to grab the ball that Sara tosses too far away, but she’s fine. Until she tries to get up off the floor. 

It’s like all her muscles around her spinal column seize up and she gasps out a bitten back _Fuck_ at how intense the pain is.

“Felicity?” Lyla asks, her voice sharp and clear. 

“I’m okay. Just haven’t been moving around as much as I’m supposed to.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” Lyla asks, her gaze insistent on Felicity’s face. The woman can stare down anyone and win. 

“‘Cause you’re the head of a spy organization and can sniff out teeny tiny fibs,” Felicity replies as she does her best to breathe through the pain. 

“Exactly. What haven’t you been telling me? Is this new?”

“Not really,” Felicity admits. 

“Have you seen your specialist?” Lyla asks. 

“My next follow up is in two months.” Closer to three if she’s honest. She saw them for her sixth month check up two months ago, right before things started to deteriorate. 

“And did they encourage you to contact them before that if you had any problems?” Lyla’s voice is so dry that Felicity figures it’d fit right in back in Vegas’s desert heat. 

“Maybe.”

“How not new is this?”

“A few weeks,” Felicity replies reluctantly. 

“Are you really going to make me pry out every detail?” Lyla asks, irritation starting to show.

Felicity blows out a deep breath and says, “The twinges started about two months ago. I thought it was just that I slept wrong or that I was spending too much time at a desk while trying to get Smoak Tech off the ground.”

“And you figured you could wait another two months?” Lyla’s voice somehow manages to be chiding and compassionate at the same time. 

“Yeah?”

“Does the pain go away? Does it get worse or better when you do anything specific?”

“It doesn’t really go away anymore. And it maybe gets worse when I bend certain ways.”

“Grab your phone, email your doctor right now.” Lyla’s tone brooks no argument, so Felicity pulls out her phone and shoots off a vaguely worded email to Dr. Mitchell. 

She’s surprised to get a response within minutes telling her she’ll have an opening for her the following Monday. 

She can make it to Monday. 

***

Except that, since she’s acknowledged it out loud, it’s harder to ignore the pain. The ache is less an ache and more of a stab. The shooting pain that would make its way down her legs a few times a day seems to be doing so almost every hour now. Walking is tiring and climbing stairs makes her grit her teeth. 

Two nights later, she wakes up in the middle of a dead sleep and almost pukes. Her legs feel like they’re on fire and no amount of twisting or curling can push the pain away. She feels around until she finds her phone and hits the first number in her favorites without thinking. 

She regrets it the second she hears Oliver’s voice. 

“Sorry. I hit the wrong number,” she manages to grit out a lie through the pain. “Meant to call Curtis.” 

“You don’t sound okay. Why are you calling Curtis at 3am?”

“I’m okay,” she says, aiming for reassuring but even she can hear how out of breath and weak she sounds. 

“I’ll be right there,” he says quickly. 

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” she bites out and she isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of how much pain she’s in or because _Oliver_ of all fucking people is on his way to help. 

She tries to push through the pain and get up to unlock the front door, but her legs aren’t cooperating. At all. 

“Oliver,” she breathes out, hoping he can hear her still. 

“Yeah?” he asks. She can hear the sound of his car’s engine pushing itself to the limits. Fuck. 

“I was going to open the door for you, but I can’t move my legs,” she says, sniffing. She’s crying now and this whole thing sucks so much. 

“I can get inside, just wait right there for me, okay?”

“It hurts,” she admits. 

“Just breathe through it. I’m five minutes out.”

“Okay,” she agrees. She spends those five minutes listening to his breaths and doing her best to match her breathing to his. Unfortunately the pain just increases and she starts to hold her breath again. 

“Felicity?” Oliver calls out. 

“It’s not getting better,” she grits out. 

“I’m here. Give me a few seconds to get inside,” 

“I think you’re going to need to call an ambulance,” she admits right before she passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter (@boofadil) and tumblr (peacefulboo). I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading!


End file.
